


A Day in the Life of Mrs. Clyde Logan

by ladyofreylo



Series: Reylogan Stories [6]
Category: Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: All for MyJediLife, Alternate Universe - Logan Lucky (2017) Setting, Clyde Logan is a Sweetheart, Duck Tape Bar & Grill (Logan Lucky), F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Story, Romance, Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofreylo/pseuds/ladyofreylo
Summary: It's a lovely day to be with a husband like Mr. Clyde Logan:Mrs. Clyde Logan hears her husband groan his way out of bed far too early and shuffle into the kitchen.  He’s sleepy with disheveled hair and heavy eyes.  He has nothing on but a pair of boxers and a blanket around his shoulders.  He is gorgeous.  He is hers.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader
Series: Reylogan Stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741774
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65
Collections: PL LOVE FEST for MyJediLife





	A Day in the Life of Mrs. Clyde Logan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyJediLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyJediLife/gifts).



> For MyJediLife. I hope you like your day with Mr. Clyde.
> 
> Thanks to jgoose13, HannahGrace, and FlavorofKylo for reading.

In the morning, she wakes, tickled by the soft hair of the big beast sleeping on her pillow. His hair is spread out in waves. If she touches it, he will awaken to take her in his arms. She raises a hand, then drops it. He needs more sleep. It was a late night at the Duck and he rolled in well after three.

She eases herself out of the warm bed to make coffee and burn a little bacon for him.

She pokes it with a fork as it cooks. 

She hears him groan his way out of bed far too early and shuffle into the kitchen. He’s sleepy with disheveled hair and heavy eyes. He has nothing on but a pair of boxers and a blanket around his shoulders. He is gorgeous. He is hers.

He blinks in the light and staggers up to her. He sticks out his plush lips and makes small kissy noises. She kisses him and wraps her arms around as much as she can reach.

“Morning,” she whispers. “It’s too early to get up, Clyde.”

“Um,” he says. “Miss you.”

He plops down at the broad kitchen table.

She puts a plate in front of him and pours some coffee. She watches him eat without a word. They don’t talk much in the morning.

When he’s finished, he stands, kisses her, and mumbles, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she calls at his big retreating back. He’s lying down again.

<>

This is the time when she can write. It’s quiet in the house, except for her husband’s soft breathing from the other room.

She tells stories, weaving plotlines and characters in and out of danger and love and angst and wondering at the beauty of it all.

She writes lovingly about him, too—in poetry too intimate to share, in words that don’t quite live up to the delicate, fragile, amazing life they have together. It’s peace beyond what she’d ever dreamed or hoped. It’s what he requires and what she loves best.

<>

Clyde awakes and emerges once again, showered, in a towel.

“Mrs. Clyde,” he says.

She looks up from her writing with a smile. “Now why do you call me that, Clyde Logan?”

His smile is slow to start but once it does, it transforms his usually somber expression. “Why, Mrs. Clyde, don’t you like your name?” He rarely teases in public. He rarely speaks, in fact, preferring to keep his own confidence and watch everyone else. She likes that about him.

“I do like it because I love you and I want to be yours. I don’t mind,” she says.

He walks over to her. “I’m looking for my favorite black shirt and I can’t find it, Mrs. Clyde. Do you happen to know where it is?”

She eyes the towel as it barely hangs on his hips. She wonders how her beautiful husband can be built so thick yet muscular at the same time. He is wide but buff. She finds herself distracted and drooling. If she reaches out, she could snag that towel and see everything that’s thick on him.

“Where is my…” Clyde stops speaking. “Are you looking at me, Mrs. Clyde?”

She raises her eyes to meet his. “Uh, maybe. You’re…” She’s cut off by her husband’s arm tugging her up from her chair. He tosses her over his shoulder, one-handed, and deposits her on their bed.

The towel drops to the floor.

“Mrs. Clyde,” he whispers. “You have way too many clothes on.”

He calls her Mrs. Clyde as he licks and nibbles his way downward, until he is seated on the floor with her legs on his shoulders. Then he makes her beg from all his teasing and tonguing, he makes her thread her fingers through his long waves, and he makes her come hard and fast, then slow and long.

He calls her Mrs. Clyde as he pushes slowly inside her, inch by glorious inch. And when he finds his own release with a deep shudder, he cries his love for her.

<>

Later, they part for a time—Clyde to the Duck, Mrs. Clyde to her job—where they both think of the other and wait for the dinner hour.

She brings him homemade suppers: this day it’s chicken and rice, grilled summer squash and fresh tomato slices all from the garden. They eat together in the back room of the Duck, talking about their day. Clyde still has half of his shift remaining before he can go home.

She packs the dinner containers to take home while Clyde returns to his spot at the bar. 

She sometimes leaves and sometimes stays. This evening, she plans to stay for a little while and watch her husband work. She wishes she could draw him, standing tall with his one strong arm, making drinks, nodding at customers, so efficient. He winks at her now and again when he catches her looking.

During a lull in the action, she calls to him. “Mr. Clyde Logan.”

He comes over with eyebrows raised. “Yes, Mrs. Clyde?”

“Shot of tequila, please.”

He nods and reaches up for a shot glass. He pours the tequila and slides it over with a bowl of limes and a salt shaker.

“I believe it’s bad luck to drink alone, sir,” she says.

He stops and looks at her. “Yes, Mrs. Clyde, I do believe it is.” He retrieves another shot glass and pours himself the same. 

She holds out her hand, eyes locked on his. He takes it and teases the back of her hand with his tongue, watching her reaction. She melts a little, thinking of his tongue in other places. She sprinkles salt on the wet spot.

He holds out his hand. She runs her tongue over the place where thumb and forefinger meet. He sucks in a breath, eyes warm and full of desire.

They clink glasses.

“I love you, Mrs. Clyde Logan,” he says softly. “To us, forever and always.”

“I love you, Mr. Clyde Logan. Always have and always will.”

<>

He comes in late again. She is in bed, half-asleep, when she hears him. The microwave beeps as he warms up a plate.

She throws a blanket on her shoulders and wanders out to greet him.

“Clyde,” she says.

He hugs her tight and kisses her. “Mrs. Clyde, it’s late. Go back to bed.”

“Coming to bed soon?”

He smiles at her. “Yeah.”

She shuffles back to bed to wait for his warmth and weight next to her. It’s not too long before his hair is on her pillow once again.


End file.
